


& if you would call me your sweetheart i'd maybe then sing you a song

by rottenkiwis



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Dadza, F, Fundy centric, Gen, Light Angst, Lowercase, Sad Floris | Fundy, but like, but like grandpaza?, but like not really sad he's kinda pissed off, fundy is so fed up bruh, give fundy a reliable parental figure challenge!, just...... grandpa and grandson bond over their emotional baggage reguarding a certain ghost :(, mentions of nov 16th, phils got some SHIT but fundy is his focus rn, they go fishing!!!!!, vague speaking of death, wilbur interupts them? no he doesnt......
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottenkiwis/pseuds/rottenkiwis
Summary: the fabric balled up in his fists is pulled taut, his knuckles white as he looks away from phil, glaring into the fire. the flames lick at a pot that phil keeps on top, the water in it growing hotter and beginning to boil. fundy feels like the water, he thinks, building up intensity until, eventually, it’ll all boil over. nothing left to salvage from an empty pot. fundy wonders how much water he has left until all that's left is steam.title: mama by my chemical romance
Relationships: family bonding time smile
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	& if you would call me your sweetheart i'd maybe then sing you a song

**Author's Note:**

> barely beta read so if u see mistakes no you didnt spare me please ,,

“let’s go fishing, mate.” 

his ear had flicked up at the sudden request, and fundy turned with wide eyes to the other man. he dropped the blanket he was holding, the new bed half made as fundy watched phil hold out a spare fishing pole to him, smile gentle with the invitation. the fox had grinned, all toothy and big, bounding over to him. he had no clue how to go fishing, never got the chance. but phil knew, and phil wanted to teach him. he swiped the rod from phil’s hands, twisting and turned it in his hands, then nodded excitedly at his grandpa.

that was almost an hour ago. even though the spontaneous fishing trip had been a way to lift fundy’s spirits after he waited so long for eret to show, being left with unsigned papers and another parental figure just out of reach, it worked well enough. fundy watches the cod under the docks, listening to phil as he speaks.

“we’re not fishing for food, and since we don’t want to eat what we catch, we release them.” catch and release. fundy comes to the conclusion instantly he’d never go fishing for food. phil lowers the fish back into the water, letting it wiggle its way out of his hand and quickly swim away. he sits back on his heels next to fundy, not throwing the line back out just yet.

“i want to clean up the waters,” fundy says, suddenly, eyes lifting from the water and up to his grandfather. phil smiles at him, raising an eyebrow in silent question, “i want to clean up all the trash and stuff, for sally.”

the older man nods, slowly, and looks back across the water and towards the sunrise. fundy hadn’t realized he waited all night for eret to show. he kicks his legs up to his chest, feeling slightly guilty on how he kept phil up all night. he grabs at his own fishing rod, scratching against the wood absentmindedly with the lull in conversation. fundy hasn’t casted his line yet, having been watching phil do it.

“let’s have you try now, yeah?” phil stands, taking his pole in one hand and pulling grandson up by his elbow with the other. he guides fundy to stand at the edge of the wood, arms raised in front of him as he grips the fishing rod nervously. phil tilts his head up a little, making him look at the rising sun.

“you look up a little,” phil moves next to him, raising the fishing rod over his shoulder, “and throw your arms back, then cast.” fundy mimics the position quickly, then looks back forward to throw the line out to the water. he looks at the bobbing lure for a moment, and phil’s own line lands next to his a moment later.

“i did it! look at that!” he yells, bouncing on his heels and smiling wide as he looks to phil for his reaction. phil nods, matching fundy’s large grin with his own encouraging smile. 

“now you’ve got to watch it, fundy. you never know when-” the lure goes under the water on fundy’s line, and he gasps as the pole is pulled. he almost loses his grip, stumbling forward to keep the pole from falling into the water. they’re stood fairly close to the edge, so fundy’s steps take him over the wood. phil shouts, full of surprise and hinted with worry as fundy splashes into the cold water. the cold water temperature from the night seeps through his clothes and sends goosebumps up his arms. he sputters, kicking out his legs and doggy paddling with his arms to keep his head above the water. 

fundy is yanked out as quickly as he falls in, phil’s tight grasp on the back of his shirt leaving him to be dropped back on the dock clumsily. he looks like a wet dog almost, ears pressed down against his head, tail soaked and his hair plastered against his forehead as he coughs from the way the shirt had almost choked him.

“careful, mate! fish are a lot stronger then they look,” phil laughs, hand patting his back.

“no kidding.” fundy huffs, slouching over a little in disappointment. he had let go of the pole, and it disappeared with the fish deep into the water. phil sighs, standing up straight from where he crouched over to pull fundy out.

“alright, well, i think that’s enough teaching for today. it’s cold, let’s get you inside before you catch something.” phil holds his hand out for fundy to take, and fundy shakes as much water as he can from his head before grabbing it. his grandpa shields himself from it with his other hand, chuckling quietly at the way fundy flails around for a moment to shake more water off. his tail whips his own leg, flinging water across the dock and splattering phil across the front. 

phil lets fundy carry home the remaining fishing rod. l’manburg glows golden with the morning sunshine and hits him with warmth, the lanterns floating around being out shined for now. fundy thinks phil’s house looks the best, his own having been blown up on the side and shaped weird from when he tried claiming quackity’s. the rose bushes out front look bright in the light, and the flags sway gently as they walk inside. 

the house is warm, the fireplace having been left with a new log right before they left. phil takes off one of his robes, draping it across fundy’s shoulders with a soft request to dry himself off before he drips water everywhere. the robe is long, going past fundy’s knees, the dark color blending in old stitches along the garment. fundy looks at one spot, on the edge of the right sleeve. it’s darker than the fabric, covering most of the cuff. fundy knows phil is right handed, the stain seeming to be something that soaked into the fabric. he cringes in realization, moving to rub it against his head to maybe dry himself off as much as he can. by the time he’s gotten his hair mostly dry, and his tail doesn’t lay heavy with water, phil’s gotten the fire big again and motions fundy to come sit. 

“this should dry you off a little faster, and i can cook something up so you don’t sleep hungry.” phil doesn’t ask for the robe, so fundy gathers it up in his arms and sets it in his lap when he sits down. he looks at phil from the side, and watches the way he gazes into the fire. fundy knows he must be tired, even he is, but he doesn’t say anything yet, because the tired he is feels different than the kind phil must be feeling. 

his shoulders sit tense, and he fidgets with his hands. fundy can’t remember the last time he saw his grandpa in person, but he knows the tired look on his face wasn’t there. his eyes seem sad, almost, staring off at the fire’s flames with some kind of sad, longing look. fundy thinks he understands why, maybe, that phil could be so tired. a lot has happened, right when phil joined the server. the explosion, the withers, phil was right there. fundy remembers phil shouting from atop a hill, directing them on the wither’s fighting pattern, guiding everyone farther away as he shot at them still. 

not even that, fundy knows, that isn’t even all of it. his grandfather had to kill his own son- his dad. fundy had been stood in the crowd, struggling to comprehend the scene happening at his feet. the crater, deep and crumbling, laying out to the exposed room behind the destroyed stage. wilbur had been shouting, loud, unhinged yelling at phil. fundy couldn’t make out anything his father was saying, focusing on the way phil’s hand held a sword. 

he didn’t continue looking then, because techno had shown up with the wither skulls. and destroyed even more of the nation fundy had spent his entire life building and defending. the fabric balled up in his fists is pulled taut, his knuckles white as he looks away from phil, glaring into the fire. the flames lick at a pot that phil keeps on top, the water in it growing hotter and beginning to boil. fundy feels like the water, he thinks, building up intensity until, eventually, it’ll all boil over. nothing left to salvage from an empty pot. fundy wonders how much water he has left until all that's left is steam. there’s movement next to him, and his ears turn to listen as phil shifts, moving to stand up. fundy doesn’t turn to watch him go, keeping his eyes trained on the way the flames push themselves against the metal. he feels the need to bare his teeth, at who, he can’t place it on one person exactly. it’s silent for a few more minutes, with the sound of chests opening and items being moved.

“i feel you glaring at the fire, fundy. the flames won’t get any bigger the more you stare at it, i’ve tried.” fundy ducks his head then, embarrassed. he hears phil laugh, quiet, and the noise the knife makes as phil chops up something. he doesn’t speak, just lets his grip on the robe loosen and loosen until it simply lays across his palms. his ear flicks, then, at the sound of phil sighing. he rubs his thumb over the stain on the robe.

“you’ve been through a lot, mate,” phil walks back over, leaning over the fireplace to throw in a chopped up potato and some carrots. fundy watches his hands, the way he taps off any remains on the cutting board with the knife. 

“it’s okay to be upset, you know. gods know how upset i am, i can’t imagine how you’re feelings about it all.” fundy watches phil smile apologetically, a sad thing, before he turns his back to the fox as he walks back over to the chests. fundy stares at the floor for a long while, ears twitching at the chests opening and the fire crackling. he takes a breath in, holding it until he can’t anymore. his shoulders go limp, and he blinks a few times before he stands as well. the robe falls from his lap, bunching up on the ground as he meets phil halfway. phil hands him the cutting board, sprinkled with spices and seasoning, and fundy brushes them into the stew before following phil. 

“what were his last words?” fundy doesn’t know why he says it, only that phil pauses for a moment, hands stilling inside the chest, before he pulls out raw beef and takes back the cutting board from the boy.

phil doesn’t look at him as he responds, only cutting the meat into smaller pieces with quick swipes. “...he said ‘do it, phil. kill me.’ and i did.”

“was it quick?” phil sucks a breath in quickly, and the knife wavers over the beef. fundy thinks he’s messed up, taken it too far. he winces at the silence that follows his question.

“only two.” fundy nods, understanding, looking around the house. it’s not very decorated yet, only having chests for food and a sword hung up on the wall downstairs. upstairs is even less decorated, and fundy looks back to his grandfather. phil tosses the sliced meat into the pot, and stirs it a few times before standing in front of the fire quietly. fundy awkwardly hovers for a moment, then manages to speak again.

“thank you. uh, for trying to teach me how to fish. it was nice.” his voice sounds small, and he grimaces inwardly at how it sounds. but he supposes it’s fitting. he takes gentle steps to stand next to phil, hands grabbing at the front of his shirt. it’s mostly dry, only damp in the creases where his arm bends and his pants are warm where the heat from the fire hits his legs. 

phil throws an arm over him, pulling the fox into his side and letting fundy rest his head on his shoulder. they don’t move for a second, then fundy lets go of his shirt, loosely wrapping his arms around his grandfather to hug him fully. he can’t remember the last time he’d hugged a family member, so he just about collapses into phil’s embrace when the other turns to hold him in both arms. the tired feeling washes over him again, pulling his shoulders down and pushing on his head as he closes his eyes and grasps the back of phil's shirt. it takes a moment for phil to speak again, and he does so quietly, like the grandson he's holding is so fragile. fundy feels fragile, too young to be carrying all the weight of a nation that crumbled at his feet, and a former president that pushed his son to the back burner. he thinks phil knows about the weight of the things he carries on his shoulders.

“anytime, fundy.”

**Author's Note:**

> twt: @R0TTENKIWIS
> 
> <3


End file.
